


Bottle

by Elektra Pendragon (elekdragon)



Series: Not Wired to be Normal [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Fantasizing, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Object Insertion, Object Penetration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 19:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10770582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elekdragon/pseuds/Elektra%20Pendragon
Summary: Jughead hates that he gets off to the thought of his dad fucking him. That doesn't stop the thoughts from coming though.





	Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> from a Riverdale kinkmeme prompt. http://riverdale-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1356.html?thread=53836#cmt53836

"Nice place."

Jughead sat on the old cot, trying to ignore the fluttering in his stomach as his father looked around the small room. It had been a hot day, but the space was still cool. Condensation dripped from the beer bottle in his dad's hand, enough that he wiped his palms on his jeans before touching anything. His fingers still left damp marks as he trailed them over the laptop. A small smile curled the corner of his father's mouth, and Jughead couldn't take his eyes off the man.

He looked good, as good as he ever did. His eyes were red, but he wasn't drunk to the point of it being noticeable yet. It was still early, the sun still setting. His throat bobbed attractively as he swallowed. FP was shirtless, browning a little in the late summer sun. His belly was softer than Jughead remembered, but it just made him want to touch it all the more, to rub his face against the soft skin. Just as quick, he pushed down those thoughts, ashamed he'd let them escape while so close to the man.

"Better than nothing, Dad." Jughead swallowed thickly, tamping down the thrill he felt just saying the name.

FP turned to face him, his eyes soft and dark. "You have a home, Juggy."

Ah, anger. That was easier to handle. "Not any more."

"It was just a house."

"A house you lost."

FP finished the last of the beer, setting the bottle down on the counter with more force than was necessary. "I didn't come to fight."

"Why are you here, Dad?"

"I just... you're my kid. I need a reason to come see you?"

"You see me every day."

"From a distance. It's not right. Come home, Jughead."

"I would, but I think the bank would have a problem with that." FP looked wounded, tired, the old barbs hitting the mark even when Jughead didn't mean to hurt him. He took a breath, catching the sour scent of old sweat and just a hint of his dad's cologne. It was comforting in an odd way, strange and familiar like the love-and-shame cycle he felt when he looked at his dad. "Besides, the trailer was getting too cramped."

He'd finally moved into the drive-in full time when the scary dude walked into the bathroom while he was jerking off in the shower. The utter lack of privacy with only a couch to sleep on was just one last thing to drive him away.

"I just want to know you're okay. I'm your father."

Jughead gestured around. "I'm doing fine. The Serpents tends to make sure things stay interesting around here."

"They'd never hurt you, Jugs."

"Just embarrass me, commit crimes around me, and play with dangerous weapons."

FP rubbed his face, looking much older for the moment. It tugged at his conscience, made him feel guilty for hurting the man, and angry he felt the guilt at all. "Just... stay safe."

Jughead stood, giving his dad a hug. He buried his face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent. Instantly, he was hard and aching, and he dug his fingers into skin to fight back the desire to rub up against the heavy bulk of his father.

He stepped back quickly, turning away to inspect the film canisters on the shelf. "Bye, Dad."

FP shuffled, like he was going to say more, but he instead left the small space, heading out into the heat to be with the other bikers.

Jughead breathed out, collapsing on the cot, fighting down his erection. Anger at losing the house and fear of the bikers weren't the only reasons why he'd come here to hide away.

Jughead wasn't sure when he first realized that what he felt for his father wasn't normal. It seemed it was always in his thoughts, that one day he would end up with his father, and it would be wonderful. He was sure he was too young to understand it when it started--an innocent child's fantasy. He could remember being convinced he'd one day marry his dad, because Dad was the best person in the entire world, and you marry someone you love, right?

It turned explicitly sexual over time, maturing as he matured. It snuck up on him, through wet dreams and guilty feelings of pleasure during the most innocent of physical contact, until the only way he could get off was at the thought of how Dad must look when he comes, how it would feel to have Dad's dick in his ass or his hand on his cock. It didn't matter what porn he watched--the hottest daddies, the biggest dicks, the dirtiest scenes--his own dad always came back to him, getting him off like nothing else could.

He always felt bad afterwards. He knew it was wrong, way too weird even for him, and it wasn't something he should still be feeling day after day, but fuck... nothing else felt so right.

When they lost the house and Mom left with Jellybean at the start of summer, things got exponentially better and worse. The man no longer had to pretend to even want to be sober, so he'd be drunk more often than not. And a drunk FP was a handsy FP, affectionate and open. Jughead's dreams became unbearably hot, his fantasies even more explicit, even as his privacy became a thing of the past.

Strangers came over more than usual, staying late into the night. The Serpents were planning something, something big. When the discussions got explicit, his father send Jughead to sit in the truck until the early hours of the morning. There weren't weapons where he could see them, but a sixth sense told him when they were there. Even on the nights he could curl up on the couch, Jughead still could barely piss in peace, let alone wallow in his darkest thoughts. The shower incident settled that no place was safe or secret in the trailer anymore.

The drive-in was a perfect second home. He'd had the run of the place for a couple years by then, the actual owners happy to hand the keys over to someone willing to watch old films night after night. A ratty old cot, some blankets, and he had his own safe place to hide when the trailer was too scary to stay. He'd spent many private moments on that cot, stroking himself or playing with his asshole until he could sleep a few precious hours.

The road trip with Archie was supposed to be his salvation, taking him away to give him experiences that would erase his unnatural lust for his father from his mind. But Archie ditched him right when he needed a friend, and he finally just started living at the drive-in full time. It was frustrating at first to be so far from his father, but it didn't stop his fantasies at all. He'd spend hours trying to resist the need to lose himself in thoughts of FP, until he gave in and just jerked off to the fantasy. Sometimes, the guilt was enough to keep him awake through the rest of the night after.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, his father started hanging out at the drive-in, too, along with all his biker buddies. It kept him near, but it also started to affect the number of people willing to go see a movie. They were loud, drunk, rowdy. Fewer paying customers would show up when the Serpents took over. And just as frustrating, the sight of his dad, relaxed and smiling and in control of the rough men around him was enough to make Jughead hard for hours.

Having his dad in his private space affected him even more than usual. Strong, half-naked, in control and begging for Jughead to return. Jughead breathed deeply, tasting the familiar scent of his father on his tongue. With a groan, he settled on the cot he'd set up, folding his hands behind his head and trying to stop his running thoughts. He wanted to get up and write, but all he could think about was his father smiling, meeting Jughead's eyes, teasing him about the small space he was currently inhabiting. The way he felt in his arms when he gave in, let himself hug him tight, smell him. He lowered his arm, rubbing his chest before reaching down to squeeze himself through his jeans, trying to hold off on the need.

God, FP looked good, standing in this private space, tanned and sweating. Like a dream. Tight and in control but still soft at the edges, a little broken, a little desperate. The way he said his name. The way his hair looked. The way his throat bobbed as he swallowed down the last of the beer, and left his bottle on the counter...

Jughead paused in his unbidden fantasy, opening his eyes and looking around. The bottle was still there, no longer coated in condensation on its spot on the counter. It was one of the skunky green bottles, the kind that littered the trailer. Jughead licked his lips, thinking of how his father's lips wrapped around it, sucking at the hole.

With a hungry grunt, Jughead rolled out of the cot and snagged the bottle. The bottle was nothing special, just cool glass. He sniffed at the mouth, catching the sour smell of the beer. It wasn't pleasant, but it reminded him of FP, and so it made his dick twitch. His father's lips had touched this. His father's tongue had circled it. What he would do to feel his father's mouth like that?

Not allowing himself to think about it, he just went with what felt right, with what he NEEDED to stop his mind from rushing. He kicked off his shoes, sliding his jeans down his legs. His shirt was a little rank when he pulled it over his head, reminding him that he needed to stop by the trailer and do some laundry. The thought of maybe even sneaking one of his dad's henley's made him groan aloud, the memory of his smell, his sweat, his body flooding his mind. It would have made this better, but for now, this was enough.

Jughead settled on the cot, leaning against the wall. Slowly, he brought the bottle up to his mouth again, this time letting his tongue just touch the rim. He wasn't sure what he was expecting--it tasted like glass and flat beer. Instead of being disappointed, he just used his imagination. His father's mouth had touched here. Now his mouth was touching it. It was almost like kissing the man.

Jughead licked around the rim before closing his lips around it, sucking and kissing the glass carefully. This is how he'd do it, if Dad were here. He'd lick him slowly, savoring the taste and feel. He'd coax him to open his mouth so he could taste inside, suck on his tongue, bite his lips.

With his free hand, he cupped his balls, rubbing his thumb against the base of his dick. He wanted to stroke his dick and finger himself open, but not yet. He didn't want to come yet. This was too damn good.

Slowly, Jughead lowered his mouth on the neck of the bottle. He cupped his tongue around the smooth sides, calling up every memory of sucking cock he could to fill in the blanks and make it something real. This is what it would be like, sucking his father's dick, tasting him all over, taking his time. Fuck yes. He was careful with his teeth, teasing his own gag reflex as he pulled back and sank down, playing his tongue on the hole with every stroke.

Fuck, he'd make FP feel so good, forget everyone else he'd been with and leave his dad craving his touch as much as he craved his father's. He would do it all, do everything, do things he couldn't even imagine with all the internet's splendor laid out before him. He could do it. He needed to do it.

In the fantasy, the bottle stood in for FP's mouth, his dick, hell, Jughead would even suck on his asshole if given the opportunity. He lavished the rim of the bottle with his tongue, teasing and drooling over it. He'd do it for his dad, he'd do anything to have him.

Feeling close just from the fantasy, Jughead pulled the bottle from him mouth. What would it feel to have his dad eating his ass? Fuck, he'd never done that with anyone. Jughead shifted his legs, lifting a knee to expose himself while he pulled his balls out of the way. The glass was still cool when he touched it to his ass, but he could imagine that his father just drank something cold, maybe his favorite whiskey, ice cubes clinking as he sets the glass down to shove his face into Jughead's ass.

He pressed the bottle opening to his hole, rubbing the saliva around. It was slick and smooth, like drink-cooled lips, sucking just a little bit at his skin and pushing against his hole. This is what it could be like, pressure and slickness and his dad's mouth just THERE.

Oh, fuck, he was going to come. He squeezed hard on his dick, trying to hold back his orgasm just a little while longer. He wanted more. He knew he should get the lube, but he was too close, too far gone. With a gasp, he pushed, the bottle now his dad's dick pressing and opening him with brute force and saliva. It finally slipped inside, making him cough with the with sudden intrusion. It burned, more solid than fingers, more thick than the mascara tube he'd found in the bathroom, but it was so smooth. He breathed through it, pushing it in, until the blossoming body strained at opening his hole. Carefully, he shifted his hips, pushing against that resistance, fighting the way it hurt while focusing on his father's body, his eyes, his chest, the way he'd look as he'd sink inside his son.

Fuck, he wanted this, wanted it all. Wanted it for so long.

He was now stroking his cock in counterpoint to his pushes, pressing his hips down against the swollen base, squeezing and pulling. It was dry, rough, but it would have to be like that, quick, before anyone saw, before someone comes in. They have to be quick, because they need each other, and it feels so good.

"Yeah, Dad. Daddy. Please."

With one last push that stretches him beyond what he thought he could handle, Jughead shudders, his come shooting over his stomach. His ass clenches around his father's cock, squeezing him and milking him and it felt so fucking good...

...For a few moments, until the world came back to him, and he was just a boy, alone, with a pool of come on his stomach and a bottle stuck up his ass, pathetically jerking off to thoughts of his own father.

His internal skin clung to the smooth sides of the bottle as he carefully eased it out. He felt so empty without it inside, but even emptier at knowing it was all a desperate fantasy. He rubbed his come into his skin, trying to bask in the afterglow. It seemed to get shorter every time he lost himself in the fantasy. Almost absently, he checked the bottle, a little afraid in the aftermath that he'd damaged himself. It was fine, just dirty. He wrapped a tissue around the neck, hiding the evidence as he dropped it into the small trash can by his cot. Another tissue helped to wipe away the extra semen.

His stomach cramped with guilt. Why did he always do this? Why did he want it so bad? And why did the thought of doing it again make his dick want to recover impossibly soon after his orgasm?

He wanted to fuck his father. He wanted to know what it really felt like, no barriers, no pretending. He felt like he would almost do anything to feel that, just once, to know what it was like. Some days, it felt like his heart would explode if he didn't get it.

It'd been a long day, and his body ached deliciously. He wanted to sleep, but he still had to queue up the evening's film. Junkies would be showing up soon, coming with the darkness, and the Serpents would make their money. A few would watch the film. His father would be in the middle of it, handsome and untouchable, so close and yet so far away. Part of Jughead wanted to say he'd never do it again, never give in to the fantasy, but his true self knew, he'd do it again. Anything, just to feel him. Even in his dreams.


End file.
